Idon't think so.

    Areyou alone?

    Yes.But I met someone else. A girl.

    Howold is she?

    She'smy age.

    Whatcan you see?

    When Itake off the blindfold I see a keyhole in the door. I can see out of thekeyhole. There's a table next to the sofa. There's something on it.

    Whatis on the table?

    It'sshiny. It's kind of oval-shaped.

    Whatis it? What is the shiny object?

    It'sa badge. A policeman's badge.

    Whatare you wearing?

    Adress. He put a dress on me.

    Whatkind of dress?

    Aspangly dress. A grown-up dress. And he calls me Eve.

    Eve?Who is Eve? Someone you know?

    No. Hemeans Eve in the Garden of Eden. Eve who was tempted by the apple.

    Canyou see his face?

    No.Not yet. But I can see his hand. He wears a big ring.

    Whatkind of ring?

    Itlooks like a snake. It looks like a ring in the shape of a snake.

    Suddenly,in her dream world, Lucy Doucette felt herself falling. She sensed that someonewas trying to save her. Someone or something.

    No.It was the darkness itself. She reached out—

    - aring in the shape of a snake . . . the snake in the Garden of Eden -

    —andlet the darkness take her.

Chapter 33

    JosephNovak sat in Interview A, one of the two cramped and oppressive interrogationrooms at the homicide unit. They did not have much, and they probably wouldn'thave been able to bring him in without his consent, but he'd run. People don'trealize that once you run from the police it opens a big can of possibilities.It immediately establishes a hostile relationship. What might once have been aconversation that moved gently from casual to mild inquisitiveness now beganwith doubt and suspicion.

    Evenif you had to cut people loose, sometimes you got lucky. A lot of it had to dowith the nature of the case itself, the heat generated not only within thedepartment and the district attorney's office but also with the public. If acase broke open in the public consciousness, pressure was brought to bear onlaw enforcement to produce results, therefore detectives put the pressure onDAs, who worked a little harder on judges, and as a result search warrants andbody warrants were granted with a little more leeway. When you searched a houseor car you never knew what the search would produce. Warrants were thehandmaidens of criminal charges, even when you had no idea what you were lookingfor.

    Theylet Novak simmer in Interview A for a few minutes. Interview A at the unitdidn't look anything like the interrogation rooms on TV. On TV the rooms hadsoft gray walls, dramatic lighting, clean carpeting, expensive furnishings, andwere usually the size of an average living room. In reality, at least in Phillyhomicide, the real room was about six by eight, not much bigger than youraverage jail cell - which was not an accident of design.

    Therewere no windows, just the two-way mirror, which was not much bigger than amagazine. Then there were the bright fluorescent lights overhead, thebolted-down chairs, and the short-legged table. No matter how often the roomwas cleaned, or even painted, it held onto the faint odors of urine and bleach.All in all, it was the Philadelphia equivalent of a visit to George Orwell'sRoom 101. Or so the Homicide Unit hoped.

    Ifyou had claustrophobia issues and you heard that door close, the bolt slide onthe other side, you started to come apart. More than one tough guy had blurteda confession after an hour or two inside Hotel Homicide.

    Jessicasat across from Novak. Byrne stood, leaning against the wall next to theobservation window. Novak sat dispassionately in the bolted- down chair, hisface void of all expression.

    Byrneput the large file box on the table. It was almost empty but Novak didn't needto know that. Novak glanced at the box, then turned his attention back toByrne.

    'Now,where were we?' Byrne said.

    Novaksaid nothing.

    'Wewere having such a nice conversation. Why did you run?'

    Novakstill said nothing.

    'Wherewere you heading?'

    Silence.

    Byrnelet the questions float for a few moments, then reached out his hand. Jessicahanded him her iPhone. Byrne turned the screen toward Novak and began to scrollthrough the series of pictures Jessica had taken of Novak's bedroom.

    Novakscanned the photos, remained impassive.

    'Thisis quite an interesting collage,' Byrne said.

    Novaktook a moment. 'Is it common practice for the police to be invited intosomeone's home, then to take covert photographs?'

    'Common?'Byrne asked. 'No, I don't suppose it is.'

    'I'msure there are a number of privacy laws that have been violated here. Myattorneys will have a lot of fun with this. Search and seizure, for one.'

    'It'smy recollection that you invited us into your home, Mr. Novak.' Byrne turned toJessica. 'Is that how you remember it, detective?'

    'Itis.'

    'Therewere no jackbooted thugs kicking in your door, no one rappelling down the sideof your building and smashing in your windows. Just three people talking, twoof whom were invited in.' Byrne tapped the photos on the cellphone screen. 'Allof this was in plain view.'

    Novakdidn't react.

    'Anythingyou'd like to share with us?' Byrne asked.

    'Suchas?'

    'Suchas why you have a room dedicated to the history of homicide in the City ofBrotherly Love?'

    Novakhesitated. 'It's research. I am a fan of true crime stories.'

    'Asyou might imagine, so am I,' Byrne said. He indicated one of the photos. 'Iremember many of these. In fact, I worked some of the cases.'

    Novaksaid nothing.

    Byrnetapped the iPhone screen, selecting another photograph. This one displayed a sectionof the room devoted to the Antoinette Chan case. It was a collage of clippingsfrom the original stories in the Inquirer, Daily News and the tabloidReport, as well as from follow-up stories when Kenneth Beckman had beenbrought in for questioning.

    'Isee you are following the Antoinette Chan case,' Byrne said.

    Novakcrossed his hands in his lap, began to rub a finger over his left fist. Aclassic self-touch gesture. They were getting into a discomfort zone. 'It is aninteresting case. One of many. I have research going back one hundred years.I'm sure you'll agree, this city has no shortage of crimes against persons.'

    Byrneheld up his hands, surrendering the point. 'You'll get no argument here,' hesaid. 'But let's talk about current cases first, okay?'

    Nothing.

    'Whatdid you find interesting about the Chan case?' Byrne asked.

    Novakleaned back in his chair, looked down, breaking eye contact with Byrne. Adisconnect. 'It was particularly brutal, I thought. The weapon used was a clawhammer, if I remember correctly.'

    'That'scorrect.'

    'Itseems an intimate act, using such a weapon,' Novak said, looking up briefly,then quickly away. 'A lot of passion.'

    'Doyou know a man named Kenneth Beckman?' Byrne asked.

    'No.'

    Theanswer came way too fast. As soon as it left his lips, Jessica saw that Novakknew it was the wrong move.

    'Butyou went to grade school with him,' Byrne said. 'Little Kenny was in your classfrom second through sixth grades.'

    'Hewas?'

    'No,'Byrne said. 'At least, I don't think he was. The point is, based on your quickanswer he might have been someone you knew, yet you said no without evengiving it a moment's thought. Why was that?'